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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28154073">How Does Your Garden Grow</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/entanglednow/pseuds/entanglednow'>entanglednow</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Bondage, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley's Plants (Good Omens), Explicit Sexual Content, Games, M/M, Plant Kink, Plant sex, Sexual Experimentation</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 17:27:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,260</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28154073</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/entanglednow/pseuds/entanglednow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Aziraphale has a few nice things to say about Crowley's plants. Crowley's protests don't go exactly the way he'd planned.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>64</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>321</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>"O Lord Heal This Gift Exchange 2020" [OLHTS discord server]</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>How Does Your Garden Grow</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aiwasensei/gifts">Aiwasensei</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for the lovely Aiwa, for the Oh Lord Heal This Server gift exchange. I couldn't resist writing something for the plants, and for Crowley and Aziraphale of course. I hope that you like it :D</p>
<p>As a warning, there are a lot of sexy plants in this, and they get very involved in the action.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It's Aziraphale's fault.</p>
<p>The wicked, stealthy angel steps in behind Crowley while he's watering the plants, slips an arm around his waist and presses a kiss to the side of his jaw, the slope of his neck, and the soft bend of his ear. He makes his voice low and silky - a tone that Crowley had recently come to think of as his alone - and he calls the plants he'd just a few moments ago been disciplining <i>beautiful</i>. He tells them how well they're doing, how luscious and vibrant and green they are.</p>
<p>Ruining all Crowley's hard work in one word. Honestly.</p>
<p>Crowley drops the watering can, twisting into Aziraphale's body with a hiss. He lifts his hands to the angel's face and kisses him quiet, before deciding that isn't enough, is forced to chastise him between kisses as well. "No, don't you dare be nice to them, they'll think you mean it." He leaves a harder kiss against his mouth when the angel simply laughs. "They'll think you <i>like</i> them." </p>
<p>Aziraphale threads fingers through his hair. A push of warmth that tries to scatter all Crowley's intentions to the winds.</p>
<p>"I do like them," he says around a smile. "They're clever, hopeful, determined things, a lot like someone else I know."</p>
<p>Crowley snaps his teeth at the idea that the disobedient greenery deserves a single mote of the angel's affection. "He's lying," he calls over his shoulder. "He doesn't know you all like I do."</p>
<p>Aziraphale laughs again and Crowley can feel himself weakening, because the sound of it, in the shape of his own flat, is sweet and free. He would have killed to hear it a year ago, to feel it flare across his mouth, to know that it was just for him.</p>
<p>"They'll think they can get away with anything if you give them compliments," he protests, trying to sound firm rather than mildly disgruntled. It's so difficult when he's being looked at like that.</p>
<p>Aziraphale is still laughing when he kisses him again, even though Crowley makes every press of mouth fiercer than the last, until they're slipping hands under each other's clothes, leaving an expensive shirt draped over a Philodendron pastazanum, a boot tossed among the bags of fertiliser, a belt draped over the edge of a stand. The watering can is knocked over at some point, but Crowley makes sure it's empty by then.</p>
<p>He presses the angel to the floor once he's gotten him down to shirt and trousers, socks still clinging stubbornly where Crowley hadn't been able to snap the elastic of the garters. Which wasn't a terrible hardship, the angel in socks and garters and nothing else is something to behold. But Aziraphale has made him pay for the privilege of getting him half-undressed by stealing every stitch of his own clothing from him. He's starting to suspect this isn't a fitting punishment because the angel simply pulls him in, his wide hands grasping Crowley's waist and dragging him up, forcing his bare thighs to spread around him, the sway of his cock already rudely obvious.</p>
<p>"They'll see what people who are <i>nice</i> to them get," he tries, because he'd lost control of this at some point and he has to at least attempt to claw back some high ground. </p>
<p>The words should in no way encourage the way Aziraphale is looking at him. A soft, affectionate delight at being untidily spread on this chilly floor, dotted with leaves, spots of water, and discarded articles of clothing. Aziraphale's simple unbuttoned shirt has no right to look so erotic, and Crowley can't resist sliding his hands inside it, watching his black nails disappear under the pale cotton sides.</p>
<p>Aziraphale lets him spread it outwards, lets him push it over his strong, rounded shoulders, baring the softness of his stomach and chest, while his own hands dare to reach up and flatten on Crowley's skin, smoothing over the hard edges of his hips - before gripping suddenly at the side of his ribs and hauling him down.</p>
<p>They end up tangled and straining against each other, laughing and finding places to cup and squeeze. Crowley's still surprised how easy it is to slip his hands inside Aziraphale's trousers, to open the catch and unzip them, ease them over his hips to expose the soft line of his pelvis, pale hair and the thick jut of his cock, flushed red and already beading wetly at the head. He wants to squirm down and taste him, then remembers he can do exactly that now. He pushes the angel's trousers and underwear past his knees and off as he slithers down, so he can spread his beautiful, solid thighs and fold over, lay his tongue against the soft skin of his dick.</p>
<p>"Ah." A tumble of fingers digs in his hair, scratches gently before slowly tightening, and Crowley feels the surprising wash of a miracle across the whole room as the angel laughs, stomach shaking gently. "Wicked thing, trying to distract me from doing good work." There's a quiet gasp when Crowley disputes this by pulling the angel's cock into his mouth, giving a slow suck that he knows has pink angel toes curling inside his tartan socks. The taste of Aziraphale always thrills him, heavy and charged in his mouth, layers of salt and skin over something sharp and sweet and unmistakably ethereal.</p>
<p>Crowley's distracted enough that he doesn't notice how dim it's become in the atrium, until he lifts his head and finds that every plant has sprung to voluminous life, leaves spreading and multiplying to cascade over each other, vines, tendrils and shoots reaching and twining with their neighbours until the strict order of their places has been thoroughly ruined. The skylight is a heavy span of green, the floor a carpet of brilliant verdant threads.</p>
<p>"Angel," he growls. "What are you doing to my plants?"</p>
<p>There's another laugh, a tip of head, a blink of pale eyes. Crowley refuses to believe a shred of that innocence, though he loves it dearly.</p>
<p>"I can't help how they choose to react to my enjoyment."</p>
<p>"You've never felt the need to be such a flirt before," Crowley accuses. "Stop it, you'll give them ideas." </p>
<p>Aziraphale's gaze lifts to the flowers that he can taste bursting into life behind him. "Oh, now there's a thought."</p>
<p>"Aziraphale, if you flirt with my plants so help me -" It's difficult to say anything else because fingers twine in his hair and encourage him to put his mouth to better use. The angel is rarely so physically demanding and Crowley can't be expected to retain any sort of scolding mood under that, not when strong hips lift and ease Aziraphale's cock across his tongue and into his throat in one silky motion.</p>
<p>Crowley can't work out how to suck him disobediently, he figures he'll deal with this floral betrayal later - but the whole thing is distracting enough that by the time he notices that something's amiss, a bunch of tendrils have already slipped between them and threaded their way around both his elbows. A twisting tug of fresh green to his skin.</p>
<p>He wraps a hand around the angel's cock, draws his mouth free. "What the hell?"</p>
<p>Aziraphale can see where he's looking, but he doesn't seem surprised, in fact he seems to be finding the whole thing amusing. "Oh, let them play a little, they've earned it." There's a brief dig of teeth in the angel's plush lower lip. "I think I've earned it too." He waves a hand, the prickle of a miracle touching Crowley's skin, and the green vines cinch tight, drawing his arms in towards his body, and then further back, until his wrists knock at the base of his spine.</p>
<p>Crowley takes a second to be shocked, impressed, and wildly turned on, mouth working furiously with no words to be found. Aziraphale pauses for a moment, fingertips drifting on Crowley's sides, asking if he wants to play this game.</p>
<p>"Oh, you filthy little traitors!" Crowley hisses eventually. "You miserable, ungrateful -" Aziraphale laughs and folds upwards, pushing a hand into Crowley's hair and drawing him into a kiss before he can finish. He has no defences against that soft press and push of mouth, he can only mumble half-words and bitten-off noises as the angel indulges himself. It's so hard to pretend to be disapproving when every part of him suddenly wants to go liquid with need. Eventually he can't talk at all, a groan rising in his throat instead as Aziraphale's wet tongue slips into his mouth, slides against his own, and he has always, always given the angel what he wanted. He never realised how unprepared he would be for Aziraphale to give him things too.</p>
<p>He's distracted enough that at first he doesn't notice the greenery curling around his legs, leaves dragging ticklishly through the hair on his thighs, vines and new shoots reaching upwards.</p>
<p>"You put them up to this, didn't you?" Crowley murmurs when they break for air they don't need. He'd lost any sort of tone he might chastise either of them with, and has no hope of finding it again, not with the angel scratching his scalp and laughing and looking so utterly delighted, pressing his warmth and softness into him.</p>
<p>"You're always so very insistent that they behave for you, I don't see why you shouldn't do the same for once."</p>
<p>"Me, behave for them? Madness, there's a hierarchy, angel, they have to do as they're -" Crowley can't help the noise he lets out when his thighs are pulled further apart, the tendrils around his waist squeezing and tugging in a way that makes his hips tilt lewdly backwards. He can feel the fine shoots of the plant sliding upwards to stretch across and then curl inside the rim of his arsehole, encouraging it to open with slow, massaging pulls. Their intention is more than obvious at this point, the blunt ends of far larger vines sliding across the gentle curve of his arse, giving quick, impatient flicks to the muscle.</p>
<p>Are those cheeky floral bastards trying to spank him? He doesn't know whether to laugh, be furious, or pin the angel to the floor and not eat or sleep for a week. The most shocking part of all of this is the fact that Aziraphale has clearly thought about it. He had a plan, this is not spontaneous. The very idea is trying to derail all of Crowley's sensible thoughts.</p>
<p>"Fuck, angel, they're going to -"</p>
<p>"Would you like them to stop?" Aziraphale asks.</p>
<p>Crowley could make them stop, he's still in charge, he's still perfectly capable of - of - a small vine twists its way into the open warmth of his anus, slithering inside, a flicker of cool greenery with only a thin trickle of sap to ease the way.</p>
<p>Fuck.</p>
<p>"Ngk."</p>
<p>Aziraphale smiles like someone who knows all his noises by heart, and presses a kiss to his suddenly slack mouth.</p>
<p>"The green looks beautiful against your skin," he tells him, a sigh breaking free as he watches them wrap around Crowley's thighs. It's very obvious that he's enjoying the show.</p>
<p>"Aziraphale," Crowley manages. He thinks he intends that to sound far less like enthusiasm for this mutiny - but the vine is very quickly joined by half a dozen more, easing their way inside, stretching the rim of his arse open for the curious, demanding mass of them. It's a slick greedy push, a squirm into his body, before a curling twist draws them all free. The motion repeats, as if they're making space, opening him wider for more of them - and for the angel.</p>
<p>"Oh, fuck." Crowley's teeth dig in his lower lip and he whines, thighs trembling. </p>
<p>Aziraphale wraps an arm around his waist and slides the other hand into his hair, kisses him. There are strong fingers fluttering over the plants that hold him, as if testing their grip.</p>
<p>"You look so lovely like this, captured for my pleasure."</p>
<p>For <i>his</i> pleasure. Crowley's moan comes out shaking and honest. The angel wanted to see him like this, wanted to watch him stripped and tangled up in his own garden, arms pulled tight behind him, thighs shaking, body open and vulnerable to the push of an angel-powered room full of greedy and adoring plants.</p>
<p>His exhale comes out as a groan and his cock throbs and sways neglected, jumping eagerly on every stabbing, twisting thrust.</p>
<p>"I rather like the idea of them preparing you for me," Aziraphale tells him, soft like it's a secret.</p>
<p>Crowley gives three harsh, wheezing breaths, because this goes so far beyond preparation, they're fucking him now, the slick, warm sap making every slow plunge easier than the last. He tries to tell Aziraphale as much but it comes out as a hiss when a particularly enthusiastic thrust of greenery rubs hard against his prostate and leaves him swaying, a broken whine punching free of him.</p>
<p>The mass of vines that are now threaded together and working slowly into his arsehole is significantly bigger than it was. Crowley has no idea how many of them there are but he feels stretched and aching, so ready, so impossibly ready for anything the angel wants to do to him.</p>
<p>"Fnrgh, ah, hsssh."</p>
<p>"That's enough I think," Aziraphale decides.</p>
<p>The plants give one last twisting push before slithering out of him, leaving Crowley wet and empty and impossibly sensitive. His dick aches where it's angled away from his body, the head leaking in thin, sticky lines.</p>
<p>His arms are still tangled tight behind him, but the vines restraining his thighs let Aziraphale reposition him, shifting his legs until he's straddling the angel's solid waist, his prepared hole held over the wide head of Aziraphale's cock, which he holds upright in a fist.</p>
<p>"Gently please," Aziraphale says, and Crowley whines when he realises the command is not offered to him. "We don't want to rush."</p>
<p>The plants obey, drawing Crowley's knees apart and tugging him down, until the twitching clench of his arsehole catches on Aziraphale's cock, and then he's sinking slowly but unstoppably downwards, stretching open for the hot, wide push of it. It's unbearable, it's exquisite, and Crowley hisses his way through it, thighs flexing, arms twisting where they're wrapped up tight by slippery plant life that's been warmed by his skin. Until Aziraphale is buried to the balls inside him and Crowley is sprawled panting in his lap - only then do the tendrils loosen and let him slump forward for a messy, trembling kiss.</p>
<p>The angel's been left waiting long enough to leave him greedy, hands tight on Crowley's waist, legs pulling up to brace his back when he gives a careful, testing roll of his hips, to feel the full weight of Aziraphale nudge and stretch inside him. Crowley lifts and then sinks, thighs flexing, slowly at first because the angel is owed a little bastardy. The plants seem to agree that fair is fair, wrapping around Aziraphale's thighs and then moving upwards to spread across his body, stretching over his plush stomach and curling around his pink nipples, new shoots growing and budding on his skin, leaving a scatter of small but lovely flowers up Aziraphale's flexing arms and chest.</p>
<p>Crowley knows the exact moment they dare more than that, knows the moment the angel's toes curl, and he gives a shocked, breathless 'ah' when they tease their way inside him.</p>
<p>Aziraphale is so beautiful beneath him, as the vines trail across his chest and thread around his arms, flowers blooming from the tiny buds in shades of pink and white and yellow across his skin. His hair is a mass of dusted pollen and he's making sweet, high noises from the greedy rolls of Crowley's hips and the slow, deep thrusts of the vines that have claimed his body for their own.</p>
<p>"Oh." The word leaves Aziraphale shakily, mouth opening after it in a surprised, helpless moan. "There are so many of them."</p>
<p>"Yesss," Crowley hisses, pressing down and wishing so badly he could see it, that he could watch the angel stretched open and plundered and unravelled by those twisting green vines. "Cheeky bastards, course they're going to take everything they can get. When else are they going to get to fuck an angel?" The words snap out of him, and he's hiding none of how much it affects him too. "Shameless display. They're pollinating all over you."</p>
<p>This doesn't seem to have occurred to Aziraphale who gives a wavery sound of surprised arousal, his thighs spreading behind Crowley. The solid thumping of his hips gains a determined, eager sort of enthusiasm. The angel is perfect like this, the soft shake of his body, the flush of his throat, his damp curls, the way his strong, powerful thighs are spread for Crowley's best plants. The way Aziraphale says his name, over and over, in that blissed-out tone. Everything inside Crowley feels open and hot and sensitive, every thrust and stretch and roll leaves his thighs and stomach and fists clenching. He wants to stay in this moment, he wants to feel this with Aziraphale as long as he can.</p>
<p>"Look at you, covered in flowers, loving every minute of it, getting your arse seen to by a great big mess of the buggers. They'll think they've won."</p>
<p>"Crowley -"</p>
<p>"But I'm the one that gets to have you. I'm the one who knows you, I'm the one who'll give you everything you want, everything you need. I'm the one you're going to come inside - ah." Crowley sinks with force when two vines wrap around his erection, a spiral of green that squeezes the red flush of his cock in quick, rhythmic pulses, sap beading gently along the length until that curled foliage is squeezing and pulling in a way that should be impossible, tugging him closer to the edge.</p>
<p>"Aziraphale, you better be close."</p>
<p>There are no words from the angel, just a moan of agreement, and the jerky almost helpless motion of his now widespread knees. Crowley takes up the slack as best as he can with his hands bound behind him, bouncing in quick desperate movements on the throbbing stretch of the angel's cock. While his disobedient plants slither up and down the length of him in a way that's going to make him come whether he likes it or not.</p>
<p>"Crowley." Aziraphale's arms tense, tiny green vines snapping as his back bends, his soft curves thrusting upwards in a way that leaves Crowley moaning too. He can feel the long, hot spill of come inside him, and he's clenching and pushing down, desperate to come at the same time.</p>
<p>Please, please, fuck, yes.</p>
<p>It's a moment of shattering bliss, throbbing pulses of it that splash across Aziraphale's stomach and chest, and also the tangles of vine, the green leaves and open flowers. He's left gasping and shaking, moaning as delicious, drawn-out shivers of pleasure ripple through him.</p>
<p>"<i>Aziraphale...</i>"</p>
<p>The angel looks dazed, his body completely lax. The plants unwind from them both slowly, petals falling from their skin, pale green sap left in lines where they'd been bound and stimulated and caressed.</p>
<p>Crowley sinks down into the angel's chest, smearing his own pleasure into skin. They kiss, messy and wet, as they sigh and tremble - occasionally breaking apart to murmur soft words to each other. Until they're just lying together in the atrium, listening to the rustle of leaves and the faint quiet patter of soil.</p>
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